


The Vanished

by JackBivouac



Series: Dungeon Online [3]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work, Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game), Sword Art Online (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Bondage, Breeding, Choking, Demon Sex, Double Penetration, Dungeon, Forced Orgasm, Gang Rape, Immobility, Impregnation, Interspecies Sex, Mind Control, Monsters, Multi, Other, Prison Sex, Rape, Tentacle Rape, Unconscious Sex, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-12 02:46:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19123006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackBivouac/pseuds/JackBivouac
Summary: 22 beta testers timeskipped to what they believed was Dungeon Online's epilogue. Instead, they were taken 15 years into the game-world's future.Someone asked about an explicit campaign, so this is a take on that. Stage 3 is an adventure for players levels 7-10 deviating/derived from a Kingmaker campaign. Chapters containing graphic rape are titled "Contains Rape."





	1. Contains Rape

“It worked…!”

The voice of the elderly woman was the first sound to filter through the darkness in the wake of the timeskip pop-up. Steel’s respawned body pixelated into a large, cold chamber carved from pale stone streaked with the oxidized brown of iron ore. 

Before her stood an ancient crone flanked by followers, all wearing ragged black smocks. The medallions at their sides glinted dully in the torchlight but caught the cleric’s eye. Each was imprinted with the bloodshot eye symbol of Gyronna, Hag Queen.

Steel glanced over her shoulder to ensure she wasn’t about to deal with followers of the Angry Hag all by herself. She let out a soft, steadied sigh of relief. The fighter Tyrian respawned on her right while the sorcerer and cleric they’d rescued just one timeskip ago, Maya and Byza, flanked her left.

Behind the four of them, six more beta testers were pixelating into this cavernous, shadowy chamber as well. The gamertags beside their floating green diamonds read: ‘Vilet,’ ‘Rasery,’ ‘Rust,’ ‘Gira,’ ‘Parake,’ and ‘Ultama.’ Steel didn’t know them personally, but she didn’t have to. They were on the same side and their hp was in the green.

That, and according to one of the multiple pop-ups on her HUD, they’d gotten one heck of a level-up. They could definitely take this clustered group of Gyronna cultists if they had to.

“This is definitely not the epilogue I was expecting,” Tyrian muttered to Steel from the side of their mouth.

“No shit,” Steel muttered back before addressing the cultists. “So ‘it worked,’ great, whatever that means. Where are we? And why are we here?”

The crone stepped forward with the ghost of an upward curve at the ends of her withered mouth. “I’m Gorza, High Priestess of the Hag Queen. It was our goddess that brought you here, heroes of the Stolen Lands, to enact one more heroic act on her behalf. Rest assured, she will reward you greatly for it.”

“No!” The scream erupted from Steel’s left. Maya held her head in her hands, the tangles of her hair as wild as her eyes. “No, no, no, no, no! We completed the beta! We’re through with this fucked up game! Get us out of…!”

Steel whacked the sorcerer behind the head. She whacked Maya hard enough to shut up her panic before it infected all of them, hard enough to knock a little green off her health bar.

So the beta had another stage, another quest to complete. This fucked up beta in this fucked up Dungeon Online had a whole goddamned questline.

“Fine. We’ll get it done, then we’re out of here,” said Steel.

“...so, uh, where is ‘here?’” asked Byza.

“Follow me,” the high cultist replied in non-answer. She led them all, sandals scritching the marble-like floor, to the western wall. A chorus line of torchlight danced across three giant, alabaster statues of barbaric, barely-clothed warriors. A doorway of vanishing steps gaped black and yawning beneath them.

“This is the tomb of Armag, blessed of Gorum, Our Lord in Iron.”

Steel blinked. She and any other cleric in the party knew exactly who they were. The deity was a god of battle above all else, so much so that they never bothered to pick a side. Gorum was the spirit present in every weapon, the bloodthirst of iron itself.

“...barbarian warlord who brought the Tiger tribe here, the first people of the Stolen Lands, or Dodge, as they’re called now. But the worshippers of Gorum never know peace for long. Our Lord in Iron had led Armag, you see, into lands where the Veil between worlds had begun to thin.

“On the other side of that Veil was the First World, land of the fey. They came to conquer, so they seeded these lands with the forest of the Greenbelt, a living tether to the First World. Armag and the Tiger repelled the first wave of invaders, but as the Greenbelt grows, so does their power.

“The Eye of Gyronna has foreseen the return of the fey. They will come and they will conquer, unless we can secure the strength that Gorum once lent to their chosen.”

“By raiding the tomb of their chosen?” snorted Steel, unable to hide her scoffing disbelief. That was just asking for a curse. Worse, it confirmed the fear of everyone trapped in the game.

This goddamned beta had a full, fucking questline, and it wasn’t letting them out until they’d completed every last branch of it. Unless they died. Hopefully.

“The power of Gyronna summoned you here, so your task has already been sanctioned by one god. That should be enough to counter any potential ill will from Gorum. Besides, how could Our Lord in Iron disapprove of unsheathing their blessed sword once more? Ovinrbaane, Enemy of All Enemies, long has it slept and longer has it thirsted.”

Steel opened her mouth. But closed it with a slow, nodding shrug. That was pretty sound reasoning, given who/what they knew Gorum to be.

The cleric unsheathed her dagger and touched its tip to Pharasma’s holy spiral of fate etched into her shield. Blue light, bright as a torch itself, travelled the dizzying whorl until its entire face glowed in the darkness. 

Steel grinned back grimly over her shoulder. “Folks, it’s time to steal from the dead.”

#*#*#*#*

The timeskip pop-up vanished, whisking Tanger into darkness. His respawned body fizzled back into being beside Daffi, the rogue appearing in a crouch, and Cyber, the shifter's skin rippling with streaks of fur, feathers, and thicker, coarser fur before settling back to skin. The fighter's HUD pinged with multiple notifications.

He let them rest, surveying the new location first. They were in a town square surrounded by cottages and long, low buildings. Weeds, vines, and even trees grew through the strangled openings of their unhinged doors and broken windows. Without even the faintest cheep of a songbird, the village was as silent as a grave.

Tanger opened his map. Keleton, was as silent as a grave. Their quest, the only one that made sense for this location, anyway, was to discover what had happened here. The other missions were to retrieve some sword from some tomb or to escape some dungeon.

“Damn,” Daffi cursed as they straightened up to standing. “I really thought we’d be done.”

Tanger clapped a hand on their shoulder. Of course he wanted to logout. Who the fuck wouldn’t? But the option still wasn’t popping up. “So the beta’s a whole-ass game. So what? We’re all gamers. This is what we do. Might as well enjoy it.”

A small, high-pitched, strangled sound escaped from his other side. Cyber hunched, hugging their arms in a white-knuckled grip, straining to breathe. Tanger and Daffi approached with open arms on either side of the shifter.

“Hey, hey, it’s gonna be okay,” said Daffi, hugging Cyber’s shoulders with one arm. “You’re not alone anymore. You have us.”

“And look, more friends!” said Tanger, waving across the town square’s greensward at the three green diamonds that’d popped up in front of ramshackle church. ‘Amet,’ ‘Crimson,’ and ‘Ochre,’ according to their gamertags.

The three waved back. They clearly had the church covered.

“Why don’t we just start with a walk?” suggested Daffi.

“Good call,” said Tanger. They could head to the outskirts and see how whatever had blown through Keleton had started. “Think you’re up for a walk?”

Cyber nodded wordlessly. They didn’t release their arms. But they were moving. That was good enough for now.

#*#*#*#*

“Escape the Scourge’s dungeon.”

Lagun couldn’t think of any quest more appropriate as they raced down the black tunnel, falchion in one hand and torch in the other. Puddles of sulfurous, rotten-egg-reeking puddles splashed under their boots. Here and there, their flickering flames dappled mounds of bone or the stacks of their severed heads.

As they turned the corner, a noxious cloud burst over the black waters of a pool and filled the chamber with a damp, clinging mist that burned thick in Lagun’s eyes, nose, mouth, and throat. Dark waves rippled down the form rising from the center of the pool.

The plated skin of the seven-foot piscodaemon shone in the torchlight. Each arm ended in the claw of a massive lobster. Long, rubbery tentacles wriggled and writhed from the upper jaw of the daemon’s octopoid head.

The fighter dropped their torch at the hiss of a telepathic voice in their head, both hands closing around their falchion’s hilt.

“In whose name do you dare intrude upon this sanctum, mortal?”

“Intrude?” Lagun scoffed with a near-hysterical laugh. “I didn’t fucking ask to spawn here, daemon! So just point me the hell out of here and I won’t kill your octo-lobster ass.”

An otherworldly tightness widened then narrowed the daemon’s bar-like pupils. An even thicker, denser cloud of stinking fog rolled out from under their lashing tentacles. The wave hit Lagun right in the gag reflex.

The fighter doubled over, blade scraping the damp stone as they struggled to keep from retching. They blinked the tears out of their eyes to shift back into a ready stance. But a blink was all the time the piscodaemon needed.

They teleported, fucking teleported, behind Lagun. Their massive claws tore through the fighter’s armor, tentacles tossing the falchion from their weakened grip.

Lagun staggered, grunting in pain. They kicked out behind them and lunged forward. Their reaching fingers brushed the hilt of their sword.

Then the tentacles wrapped around their throat. Lagun choked and gasped for even a single stinking breath. Their fingers forsook the blade, tearing instead at the rubbery coils to keep them from tightening. Fighting for their life, the fighter was too distracted to register the daemon ripping the plates of armor and clothes from their weakening body.

“Another intruder, another fool for the Scourge,” the voice hissed through the burning fog in their brain.

One claw closed under Lagun’s bared chest, pinning their arms to their sides between its teeth. The second closed around their stripped thighs, yanking their boots up and kicking off the floor. Two thick tentacles loosed from around their neck only to wriggle and stuff themselves into their wheezing mouth.

Lagun sputtered and gagged, saliva splattering their mouth and the invading tentacles. They fought and writhed in the daemon’s hold, but their flailing limbs only smacked helplessly against their captor’s shell plates.

A dark chuckle hissed through their head. Lagun’s eyes bulged in fear as the blunted heads of four new tentacles prodded the two clenched mouths between their legs. Without a word of warning, the daemon pushed them down. 

Two fully engorged cock-tacles penetrated each fear-tightened hole. Lagun jerked and spasmed in the vise grip of the daemon’s claws, drool spewing helplessly from their over-stuffed throat.

The daemon had no mercy to offer. They bounced Lagun’s pinioned body in a brutal rhythm onto the twin pairs of their dicks. Their cocks cracked the fighter’s pussy and anal walls so far apart that Lagun could feel the thrust of each neighboring dick through the crushed, shared wall of their shafts.

The daemon was tearing them apart from the inside out. Despite the fatal realization, a shot of pure, unadulterated heat lanced from Lagun’s fully penetrated crotch into their gut, bending their body back into that spinal arch of shameful submission. Their toes curled, fingers clenching painfully as their traitorous hips bucked in feral beggary on the daemon’s raping, shaft-stuffing cocks.

Lagun’s eyes rolled to the back of their mind-broken skull. Their pussy and anus squeezed around the daemon’s dicks in a deathgrip of ecstasy. A bestial howl from the depths of Abbadon raked through Lagun’s quaking, sweat-soaked body.

Burning, stinking cum burst from the head of each cock into their spasming shafts. The pumping, filling rape of both pussy and anus was too much for Lagun. They slipped into darkness, chased by wave after electric wave of gut-twisting orgasm.

The daemon continued fucking the fighter’s unconscious body until they’d emptied every last drop of seed. They pulled out with a series of soft, wet pops and watched their cum ooze between Lagun’s slightly quivering thighs.

Vordakai shook their head. Always a fool and always a slut came intruding. So be it. The fools might as well have their fun before the Scourge selected their next test subject.


	2. Contains Rape

Steel led Tyrian, Maya, Byza, and the other six players down the dark stair and into a tunnel, the only source of light being the three clerics and two mages in the party. The blues, purple, orange, and yellow glows illuminated the three-pointed arch of a doorway at the end of the corridor. The onward march slowed to a forward crawl, a prickling heat building under the skin with each softened step.

Steel poked her shield-arm through the doorway. Blue light filled half the circular chamber. Its domed ceiling rose from the smooth, polished floor in a vaulting arc. The room was completely bare of furniture and body.

“All clear,” said the cleric, stepping through the doorway.

“Wait!” a voice cried from behind.

The entire floor shifted beneath her feet. The stone at the far end of the room pitched upward. The stone under Steel pitched down, throwing her through the crescent-shaped crack that opened below.

“Steel!” Tyrian reached for her hand. They caught only fingertips.

The floor rolled back as fast as it had winked open, severing Steel’s forearm at the crushed bones. The cleric, cold and benumbed in shock, fell with the softest “oh.” Followed by the sickening squelch of iron spikes catching, impaling flesh at the bottom of a fifty-foot drop.

The cleric’s arm splattered to the polished floor and rolled to a stop. Maya screamed. She wasn’t alone.

Terrorized voices scratched through the darkness like a chalkboard. Their piercing pitch echoed off the stone, doubling, tripling, quadrupling in skull-rattling intensity. Maya was thrown to her knees, head gripped tight in her hands. Yet she couldn’t stop the primal fear shrieking from her own throat.

“That’s enough!” Byza’s voice boomed, a ring of purple magic bursting from the wooden symbol in their hand.

The wave rippled cool and clear through Maya’s body, snuffing her wild terror out to a steady, but no longer paralyzing, pulse of fear. The screams faded back into the tomb’s thick, choking silence.

Maya uncurled cautiously at the panting cleric’s feet, eyes avoiding the arm still wet upon the floor. Tyrian reached through the gap left by Steel, offering the sorcerer their own hand. Maya took it with a queasy gulp.

“That...was a mistake,” said Byza, breathing hard but steadier now. “Of course the tomb’s trapped. We should’ve had a rogue up front from the start.”

‘Vilet’ raised a hand. “I-I’m a rogue. I’ll help, I mean, I know we’ve got to work together to get out of here alive, but even I’m not immune to gravity…”

“You don’t...have to be,” said Byza, dropping their head into their hands. “That level up...I’ve got ‘communal air walk’ as a spell.”

Tyrian’s face twitched in the pale of Maya’s blue light. Steel, another cleric, would’ve had that spell herself. 

The sorcerer’s shoulders shook silently. That wasn’t a mistake, it was a whole fucking comedy of errors. She clamped a hand over her mouth for good measure.

“So we air walk across,” said Vilet, their voice barely audible through Maya’s mental cackling, “then I’ll take the lead.”

“Right,” Tyrian growled tightly. The fighter’s narrowed eyes glared slits into the sorcerer’s skull.

“Right,” she parroted helpfully at a pitch several times higher. And therefore, several times more helpful.

#*#*#*#*

This was bullshit. The beta, the timeskip, the new quests, it was all fucking bullshit. Ochre kicked a root poking out of the backwater, broken-ass church’s door. His or their real body was probably lying in a puddle of his own piss in the Soul Translator. God, he should’ve peed before he’d logged in.

“O-Ochre? Everything alright?” asked Amet.

The cleric’s glower dimmed at the cock-tingling sight of that tasty twink by his shoulder. Actually, it wasn’t all bullshit. If he had to get stuck in a fucked up beta, at least it was one where everyone had given themselves a full course meal of an avatar.

“Yeah. C’mon, let’s check it out.”

Crimson had already gone around to the other side of Erastil’s church to poke around the hillside cemetery. In hindsight, it’d probably been a dumb idea to split the party so the glass-canon sorcerer had to go off alone.

Eh. Ochre shrugged and gave the door a solid kick. The stuck wood shuddered then knocked free of the root. The stink of piss was a dead giveaway that this was no longer sacred ground. The broken wooden pews and looted altar were also pretty unmistakable.

Ochre stood in the doorway pinching his nose while Amet took the first step within its pisswashed walls, broken teeth of stained glass shining rainbows of jagged teeth across the floor. The shifter froze.

Ochre froze. He heard it too, the pitter patter of tiny feet on sticky floorboards. They came from behind the altar, a whole gang of spriggans. These gnomes were fey creatures so stricken by the bleakness of the Material Plane that they’d lost all color, hair, and humanity. They had not, however, lost their magic.

The spriggans snarled at the sight of the humans, mouths foaming, ears twitching, and bodies glowing green. Their forms stretched and filled into eight-foot bodies equally feral and wiry. The slung the halberds down off their backs, both weapons and armor having grown with them.

“Ochre, stay back!” growled Amet, shifting themself. The twink’s body broadened, powerful muscles and coarse brown fur streaking outward from their chest’s core. The skin and bones of their skull erupted forth into the roaring muzzle of a grizzly.

“Yep,” Ochre agreed, backing away from the doorway. “You got this.”

He’d just be out here on heal duty when/if he was needed. Ex-twink bear versus overgrown, disillusioned gnomes. Yep, this beta was finally getting interesting.

#*#*#*#*

Hunter was in a bind. As a rogue, she or they was at home in shadow. Total darkness, however, crossed that fine line from excellence to major problem. As a human, she lacked the darkvision necessary to use any of her sneak attacks. At the first sound or smell or trouble she’d just be swiping in the dark.

Fuck. This. Dungeon.

She slammed the butt of her fist against the stone wall, resulting in a ringing smack. The rogue swore under her breath and shook out her stinging hand. But the truth was, she hadn’t gotten anywhere in the past thirty minutes.

Fuck. It. She lit her fucking torch.

“What the…?”

The rogue hadn’t smacked a wall, she’d smacked the arched doorway of a musty ass library. Stone tablets, crumbling scrolls, and ancient tomes packed every nook and cranny of the stone shelves carved into every wall. Newer pages were rolled out over stone tables, recently inked by the look of them.

Hunter cast a glance toward the shadowy corners of the stone library. Neither sound nor light nor voice had drawn any creatures. She padded softly toward the nearest table and squinted at a page.

“Of course.” The writing was completely unintelligible. The rogue felt a curious urge to recreate the burning of Alexandria.

Before she could lower her flame to parchment, dark tatters fluttered in the corner of her eye. Hunter pivoted into a low stance, the blade of a dagger flashing in her free hand.

The black tatters belonged to a tall, gaunt humanoid whose skeletal form strained to break free of its withered gray flesh. Shattered black teeth jutted from a cracked, lipless mouth under the gaping holes of nose and eye. A blood red gemstone plugged the stygira or stone witch’s other eye socket.

“Ho-ly shit,” Hunter squeaked, selecting the ‘run’ option. She ran as fast as she fucking could, but with the stygira hanging out by the original entrance, the rogue could only flee deeper into the library.

Shadows melted back from her torch into a veritable corn maze of stone bookshelves. She twisted and ducked from aisle to aisle, her speed egged on by the click and scratch of taloned feet in the distance.

Hunter’s heart pounded against her ribcage. Her breath raked ragged up her parched throat. But with no exit in sight, she’d have to circle past the scratching witch to get out. With a smothered sob, she glanced back over her shoulder.

Hot breath blasted across her face, cracked teeth snapping for her nose. Hunter shrieked and spun, slashing wild.

The stygira’s head jerked back, a thin arc cutting across its hollowed face. Not a drop of blood oozed from the cut. The stygira’s mouth peeled into a wide, stretched grin.

With her back to a stone shelf, Hunter was cornered. Two black claws scythed out from the witch’s fluttering rags. 

The rogue scythed faster. The claws clanged off the whirring blade of her dagger. Her eyes narrowed to glinting slits. She could do this.

Hunter locked her sights on the first cut and sliced again. Once, twice, each ripping deeper through the wound.

Black blood sprayed from the cut, the stygira falling back with a howl. Hunter’s breath caught in her throat. This was her chance.

The rogue dove and tumbled past the wailing witch. Her shoulder banged the far edge of a shelf. She didn’t feel it, springing to her feet.

And into the raking claws of a second stygira. Black nails gouged deep, burning trails across her neck and shoulder. She gasped in pain but threw up her dagger. The next strike clanged harmlessly off the blade.

Hunter shifted back to face both stygira, dagger flashing ready in her hand. Now that she could see them, she could fight them. That one slash was all they were going to get.

Only too late did she realize one slash was all they needed. The burn in Hunter’s neck and shoulder faded into a heated stiffness. Her neck and shoulder locked, refusing to move. While the stygira’s burning curse continued to course through her veins.

Hunter’s torch clattered to the ground. She clutched her unmoving arm, eyes flicking wildly between its blur to the grinning stygira. The burn flowed into her hand, her fingers. Her dagger fell, useless. She couldn’t hear it land over the deafening pulse in her ears.

The rogue’s knees collapsed under her. Her arms hung limb at either side. Her frozen face couldn’t turn away from the encroaching witches, only blur their tattered forms with tears of fear.

She fell face-first to the ground. The stygira descended upon their prey’s still-conscious form.

The witches ripped cloth and armor to shreds. Hunter, utterly helpless, couldn’t even command her body to shudder in disgust as they trailed the needle-sharp tips of their nails over her naked, vulnerable flesh.

The claws scratched deeper once they reached the soft skin of her ass and thighs, drawing blood and goosebumps. This time, Hunter shivered but with the descent of icy fear down her spine.

She couldn’t see, but she felt every wet scrape and prod as the witches dragged their hot, rough tongues across her bleeding, prickled flesh. A pathetic whimper wormed through Hunter’s closed mouth. The stygira let out a grating cackle and plunged their tongues into their paralyzed captive’s cunt and asshole.

Hunter’s whimpers ratcheted up in pitch and panic, bursting from her nose with each rough, wet thrust between her immobile legs. The witches only laughed louder.

Where their victim could not see, the stygira reached their claws into the piles of shredded fabric. Cloth and armor braided together into tattered cords of rope. The witches spread and bent Hunter’s legs at the knee, binding her ankles above her. They bound her forearms tight from wrists to elbow behind her back and lashed her ankles to her constricted arms in an inescapable hogtie.

The witches, vicious bitches, flipped their tightly bound captive onto her back, and arms, and legs. Hunter screamed through her nose, completely blinded by tears. So that she could not see the stygira pulling their rags back from their long and crooked gray cocks.

One witch straddled her leaking face. It thrust its angled dick through her mouth, knocking immediately against the top of Hunter’s throat.

As she choked and gagged, the second witch twisted and thrust its crooked cock up the rogue’s asshole, ramming up against the back wall of her pussy. Though helpless to her own will, Hunter’s cursed body moved then. She didn’t have a choice, the odd angles of the stygira’s thrusting cocks pounding her into spasms and convulsions from either end.

The witches rode her jerking, writhing body until the clenching walls of her throat and anus finally squeezed just right around their cocks. By that time, the rogue’s torch had long sputtered out. So they came into her spent, quivering flesh without ever letting their broken captive see the color of their burning cum.


	3. Contains Rape

Maya stumbled after Byza and Tyrian, both of whom now followed Vilet to the chamber at the end of the next corridor. The rogue stopped in the doorway. Byza held their glowing shield up beside them.

Purple light bathed columns of fused iron weapons and the near half of a large iron wheel at their heart. Vilet clenched their jaw and snuck cautiously onto the iron floor. There was no fatal tilting here.

Byza and Tyrian stepped up beside the rogue. After a moment of half-dazed staring, Maya followed, jostled on all sides by the rest of the party. She barely registered the hushed words spilling from Vilet’s mouth as they explained the trap.

“...only after turning the wheel seven times...can’t deactivate it from this room.”

“Then we better be safe than sorry,” said Byza. The cleric raised their holy symbol and renewed the air walking spell.

Maya’s feet lifted a foot off the iron floor. Her windmilling arms smacked “Rust” and “Rasery” to her left and right as she tried to regain her balance. She shrugged off their disgusted glowers.

“Everyone ready?” asked Tyrian, taking the wheel.

Everyone but the sorcerer made some kind of affirmative noise or gesture. The fighter jerked their chin in a nod and strained against the wheel. “Parake,” the other fighter, joined their shoving, grunting effort. Between the two of them, the iron wheel screaked and turned a full circle.

A sharp whistling pierced the air and darkness above. The wind rushing off the falling projectile threw Maya’s full body back into Rust as the new column of fused iron crushed Rasery's skull into his spine and then his feet with a deafening crash.

Wet. Maya's face, her hair, her clothes, they were all wet. 

Her thoughts rolled in slow, miles away from this death-bent tomb. That new cleaning spell was going to come in handy.

"Fuckshit!" Vilet screamed in the distance, running up stairs of air toward the ceiling. "One of you casters get your asses up here!"

A caster who was not Maya run up after them. Rust, flung to his or their ass under her, was still too in shock to push her off.

Byza, blanched in their purple light, knelt in the bloody splatter under the pillar. “He...he has one minute...I can bring him back...but the pillar…”

Tyrian let go of the wheel. Parake roared under the strain. She or they braced her trembling legs against the floor, but the iron forced her hands back inch by inch. 

Tyrian braced their shoulder against the pillar. “Everyone! Stand clear!”

“Stop!” Vilet shrieked from on high. They jumped down from the ceiling as though between two walls and landed in an unwieldy crouch on the block of air a foot above the floor. They waved their hands wildly before their panting face. “The trap...was sprung. We’re safe. If the wheel turns back...another pillar…!”

“Didn’t you see where it’d fall from?” Tyrian shrieked back over Parake’s grunts and cries.

“The whole ceiling’s covered in summoning sigils!” screamed “Gira,” the rogue’s magical torch-bearer.

“So we just let Rasery die?” choked out Rust, finally pushing Maya off to rise to his feet.

“Yes,” she breathed from her hands and knees. She’d assumed the single word would be too quiet for even Rust to catch, but everyone in the room froze. Except for Parake.

Tyrian hissed and ran back to help her. Together, they caught the wheel. They two looked stared through sheets of sweat at the rest of the group. Release for Rasery? Or go on to kill some other member of the party?

Potentially, a caster. All four, including Maya, had proven helpful with their light sources. And after the death of Steel, there were only two healers left among them.

The fighters turned the wheel, having reached the same inevitable conclusion as the rest of them. Rasery, a shifter, was simply far less valuable in this dungeon than the casters they’d place at risk.

#*#*#*#*

Blood splattered down the arc of Amet’s slashing claw. Before the dead spriggan shrunk back to gnomish size, the shifter’s free claw bat the last spriggan’s halberd away like a child’s toy.

Amet roared and lunged. A hindpaw crushed the gnome skull underfoot. A forepaw seized around the last spriggan’s throat, claws puncturing windpipe and artery.

The enlarged gnome gurgled bloody bubbles from their mouth and the new holes in their neck. The shifter flung their shrinking body into the wall of the church. They slumped forward, shrinking themself as blood-matted fur melted away into red-drenched skin.

Amet swayed on their feet. Their knees collapsed under them. Ochre caught the poor twink before they hit the body- and debris-strewn floor.

“Easy there, Tiger,” said the cleric, filling his words and touch with magic. Amet’s wounds glowed with his yellow light before stitching closed. “Better?”

“Y-yeah,” said the shifter, raising their head cautiously. Their eyes swept over the roomful of bodies. “Sh-shit, weren’t we supposed to get information or something?”

Ochre shrugged under Amet’s shoulder. “Eh. These can’t be the only hostiles in Keleton.”

If a whole gang couldn’t stand up to a shifter, they were way too weak to have cleaned out this entire town. Heck, the only bodies they’d found were the ones they’d dropped. These spriggans clearly lacked the magic to vanish all the villagers, so there was at least one other party who’d come to play here.

Maybe the same one who’d magicked all these plants to grow out from the buildings. Ochre had seen that shit in all kinds of apocalypse movies, but most of the material damage here was recent. All that growth must’ve been magically accelerated.

“We should probably check on Crimson,” said Amet.

Ochre’s gaze drifted back to many, many armed bodies littering the church. If the sorcerer had been ambushed out back, they were definitely dead.

The cleric shrugged. “Sure.”

#*#*#*#*

Vordakai slung this “Lagun” over their shell-plated shoulder and carried them toward the holding cells. The piscodaemon could smell their own cum in their captive’s holes as they stalked through the Scourge’s dungeon. They had to admit, this human was the tightest cumslut they’d fucked since the binding to their latest master.

They couldn’t resist sticking a curious tentacle into Lagun’s wetted asshole. Even in their sleep, that whore twitched and squeezed Vordakai with a soft murmur. The daemon sighed and cut into a domed room stacked high with glowing glass jars. Such a waste that their body would soon be discarded with all the rest of these souls.

The daemon was many things. A corpse-fucker was not one of them.

The cackles of stygira and the gagged screams of their victims reached Vordakai well before they turned the corner to the holding cells. The totally dark but airy, six-celled chamber was packed with stone witches in all stages of gangrape.

The first cell held one hogtied “Hunter” on the stone bed/table. She was on her stomach, weeping and snorting as one stygira fucked her throat and another alternately filled her swollen pussy and asshole.

The second cell held one “Eleci,” wrists shackled over her head and chains wrapped around her arms from the cuff past the elbow. The taut chains forced her onto her tiptoes when the witches gathered in front and behind her weren’t sandwiching her naked body in a brutal, doubly penetrating rape.

The third cell held “Mau,” obviously a caster by the prayer-like binding of their hands behind their back. They’d been bent over, their shoulders locked into stained wooden stocks. Mau screamed onto the cock in their mouth as a second crooked cock reamed them up the ass.

Across from Hunter was the fourth cell, occupied by a second caster. “Straw” had been forced onto a wooden horse, his legs bent and shackled to either side. The witch on his face bent his body mercilessly back, crushing the back of his skull, neck, and shoulders against the sharp edge of the horse also splitting the cleave of his ass. More witches gathered to ride his forced-erect cock.

Vordakai hefted Lagun off their shoulder at the fifth cell. Stygira swarmed around the newest flesh, many licking their single gemstone eye in dark anticipation. They hauled the tight slut away with groping hands that squeezed and bound them at every step.

The stygira lashed Lagun’s calves to their thighs in a frogtie. They yanked their arms straight down their back and tied their wrists to the inside of either ankle. Finally, they strapped Lagun tight into a harness around their chest and hips, suspending them at the perfect fucking level at the center of the cell.

Vordakai’s gaze flicked from the empty sixth cell back to the cumslut they’d seeded first, now a dangling, tantalizing treat for the witches squeezing their naked flesh as they rubbed themselves stiff. The daemon’s bar-like pupils tightened.

“Back up,” they ordered telepathically.

The crowd of stygira fell back but did not leave the cell. They watched in silence as Vordakai approached their new toy’s head.

The daemon closed one claw around Lagun’s neck, not so tight that the claw’s teeth broke the skin but enough to hold them firmly in place. The whore’s eyes fluttered at their grip. Their mouth opened with a soft, weak breath.

Vordakai grunted, shoving all four tentacle dicks down Lagun’s constricted throat. The stuffed captive couldn’t scream, only choke. Their too-small throat spasmed even tighter onto the daemon’s thrusting cocks.

The crowd of witches yowled in feral rut. They swarmed at Lagun’s dangling ass-end, shoving each other aside to be the first to plug the captive’s sloppy holes with their crooked dicks. The winner grabbed the bindings of their spread legs and pistoned like a jackhammer up the slut’s dripping pussy. 

The second or perhaps true winner leapt up onto the suspended harness. The stygira squatted down and plunged its cock up their pursed anus.

Lagun’s eyes bulged. Tears, snot, and drool drenched their tortured face as much as the cum the witches began splattering over every curve and crevice of their body, jerking and writhing usessly against their taut bonds.

With the slut’s choked throat packing Vordakai’s dicks against each other with each shaft-ripping pound, their tight, wet heat was unbearable. The daemon’s telepathic scream and moan tore through Lagun’s stuffed body.

That filthy whore bucked and squeezed, cumming uncontrollably. Seed exploded from the tip of every dick in their depths. Lagun’s dirtied, ravenous holes sucked each raping cock dry to the last drop.

Vordakai pulled out with a mental groan. What a shame, what a fucking shame.


	4. The Cost of Completion

They must’ve been nearing the end of the tomb because the passageway out of the pillar room was choked with a heavy fog restricting their vision to a mere five feet. Byza renewed the air walk spell, they and Tyrian staying close on Vilet’s floating heels.

Maya followed numbly in their footsteps, Rust practically huddling at her side after Rasery’s grisly end. She couldn’t blame him but shook her head anyway at the futility of it all. Her hair didn’t move through the fog.

Ah. She’d completely forgotten to cast prestidigitation, leaving her locks plastered in Rasery’s blood against her skin. The same with her robes. In which case Rust REALLY shouldn’t have been walking so close.

Then she, herself, walked right into Byza, leaving a bloody print. The three up front had stopped moving. Maya’s bump from behind didn’t draw a single glance from any of them. Not a good sign.

From below, a scuttling mass of legs and mandibles scrambled forward out of the darkness. The party looked down as one. A ten-foot carpet of spiders, each the size of a gold coin with mandibles like a pair of scissors, swarmed underfoot.

The sound that escaped Maya’s throat was halfway between a laugh and a retch. It was completely swallowed by the growing buzz of thousands of angry, stinging wasps.

There was no time at all. But Maya had encountered a swarm before. This time, she had the spells to deal with it. “Blood of the fey, rise to my call!”

As the stinging swarms crashed upon the front and back of the party, immune to the swinging blades, the sorcerer’s body suffused with blue light. Her ears lengthened and tapered to elegant green points above her head. Her features shifted ever so slightly from virtual avatar flawlessness into uncanny fey perfection.

Needle-sharp stingers glanced harmlessly off the Maya’s transformed skin, vulnerable not to natural weapons but cold iron like any proper nymph. As though a hivemind undeterred, four new writhing masses of legs and venomous pincers seethed across the ground in an undulating wave of swarming centipedes. Rust, taking her cue, suffused beside her with an orange light of transformation. 

“Light,” Maya growled through perfect, slightly pointed teeth. A three-foot beam of blazing hot fire sprung forth from her hand, vaporizing the wasps all up in her face.

The party still flailed and screamed around her, but at least...all sound was driven violently from her head by the grind and click of impossibly large mandibles and chitinous plates. The last intelligible thought to be wiped from her mind was that this was a magic effect.

Then the sorcerer’s Intelligence and Charisma dropped to 1. Maya gaped blankly as the wasps suicide-dived into the light burning from her hands. She continued blanking as the source of the feeblemind chittering loomed from the fog into view.

Nine feet tall and nearly a thousand pounds, the derghodaemon was a five-armed insectoid monstrosity lured from the depths of Abaddon by the violence of this Gorum-blessed tomb. It waded through the seething swarms of spider, centipede, and wasp, immune to those of its own ilk, and sent all five claws scything through the frontline.

But Vilet and Tyrian, having willed through the daemon’s feebleminding aura, gave as good as they got. Red and black blood rained through the fog, the daemon screeching in fury.

Down came the wasps, stinging into Vilet, Tyrian, and Byza’s new wounds. The rogue fell, dropping through the foot of air into the seething carpet of flesh-flensing mandibles. 

Maya watched, her perfect fey eyes blinking slow as a cow’s while the clicking creatures writhed through the gaps of Vilet’s immaculately cleaned bones. She had not a single iota of comprehension to spare as the wounded daemon scythed once more upon Tyrian, Byza, and now her flame-bearing self.

Pain exploded from her gut. The sorcerer looked down, frowning in equal parts discomfort and consternation. An oversized insectoid claw had ripped a chunk of flesh out from under her ribcage, failing only by the fey strength of her skin from disemboweling her.

Tyrian fell. Byza fell. But so did the derghodaemon. As its ungodly form came crashing down, every clicking, chittering vermin vanished from ground and air.

Maya, Rust, Parake, Gira, and Ultama landed on their hands and knees. The hall stretched out in foggy silence, the gray curling through the bones of the three cleaned skeletons at the head of the party.

“Gira, you’re a cleric,” rasped Rust. “Can you bring them back?”

“Byza said…,” she gulped, “Byza said they had the resources to save one life. One minute, one life.”

“One cast,” said Maya, her voice as hollow as the bodies. “But we haven’t reached the end of the tomb.”

“B-Byza’s a healer,” said Rust.

“Who burned through their highest spell slots casting all those air walking spells,” Maya continued to intone.

“Alright, let’s take a vote,” said Ultama. “Everyone who wants to blow our only resurrection spell on a compromised healer, show of hands.”

The five remaining members of the party wasted precious seconds glancing from face to face. Rust and Gira raised one trembling arm each. Maya and Ultama made no attempt to move. Parake looked away but kept her arms folded against her chest.

The final seconds slipped by in suffocating silence. Finally, Ultama stepped over the bones, taking Vilet’s place in front. “Gira, Parake.”

The rest of the party followed the rogue over the bones as well.

#*#*#*#*

Tanger, Daffi, and Cyber met the other three...two back in the overgrown town square. “Amet,” despite being the more slender of the two, carried the body of the third in his arms. 

From the looks of it, the dead avatar (whose name Tanger couldn’t recall for the life of him), had stepped into a beartrap then fallen prey to those gray gnome growers. The same kind of fey that he, Daffi, and Cyber had encountered as a small, drunken army in the local tavern.

“You didn’t happen to catch a spriggan alive for questioning, did you?” It never hurt to ask.

“Fuck,” said Ochre.

“We were kinda hoping you did,” said Amet.

“Unfortunately not,” said Daffi.

“Oh my god,” breathed Cyber, staring into the space occupied by their invisible menus. “This is a main quest. It isn’t grayed out. What if we glitched the game? We still have to complete it. Oh my god. What if we’re tra…”

Daffi hushed the hyperventilating shifter, hushed them all. “Do you hear that?”

Hooves, galloping. Everyone turned toward the dust cloud billowing up the abandoned street. Ten riders on horses broke through the dirt led by a strange player beneath a floating green diamond.

Tanger couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something off about this “Kel.” She brought the riders to a stop at the edge of town square and dismounted with a leap. She ran at the five of them, tears streaking across her dusty face.

“Oh my god,” Daffi breathed.

Kel was older, that was it. Her avatar had changed from that of a baby-faced twenty-year-old to that of a sleek, mature adult in her thirties.

She stopped just short of hugging anyone, nearly skidding into Cyber instead. Kel wiped her eyes, her mouth spreading in a bittersweet grin. “Forgive me, I-I had hoped but, sorry, I’m Kel, High Priestess of Pharasma.”

Ochre raised a questioning brow. “‘High Priestess?’”

“A lot, a lot has changed since you’ve been gone.”

“Wait, you are Kel? As in, of ‘Keleton?’” asked Amet.

Much to everyone’s surprise, the high priestess nodded. 

“I-yes. But I spend alternate months between here and Duke Sangra’s court in the north.” Her eyes suddenly hardened. “That bastard struck while I was away.”

“Who? The duke?” asked Tanger, already forgetting his name as well.

“No! No, of course not. Duke Sangra’s one of us. No, I meant the Knight of Thorns.”

#*#*#*#*

Monarch stopped, tucking his or their torch under his arm to check the notification on his HUD. Whadya know, someone had already completed that town info mission. He hadn’t expected the quests to be so easy after the first one had taken days.

“I guess that’s what you get in a beta,” the fighter shrugged. As for him, there was nothing to do but see where this long-ass tunnel led.

Speak of the devil, sorta, turning this next bend revealed a soft, moonlike glow at its end. Monarch whooped and ran for the doorway, his speed nearly guttering out the torch in his hand.

His breath caught in his throat. He stood before an octagonal chamber, its ceiling vaulting twenty feet in a heavenly dome of white crystal. The opaque slabs had been fitted to form the shape of an inverted eye, its gently glowing gaze focused on the room below.

The fighter was so entranced that several seconds passed before he realized he was not alone. Directly beneath the great eye-shaped dome knelt a shaggy-haired youth, their head bowed as though in prayer.

“Oh, hi, sorry, I didn’t see you there,” said Monarch, stepping beneath the dome.

The youth raised their head. Their face was pleasant, what wasn’t covered by their wild black locks. The visible half of their mouth smiled, one blood-red eye glittering like a precious gem.

“No harm done,” said the youth. “What’s your name, friend?”

“I’m Monarch, nice to meet ya.”

“I’m Scourge.”

The fighter’s eyes widened at the name of his new friend. “Scourge! You’re Scourge! I’m supposed to help you escape this dungeon!”

The youth giggled into a black-clawed hand. But the charmed Monarch continued to stand there, nodding insistently. Scourge tilted their head in thought. 

They nodded slowly, floating up onto their bare feet. “It has been a while since I’ve left the Veil. But I suppose Vordakai can take care of the palace.”

Scourge’s mouth spread into a wider, toothier grin. “Alright! Let’s go for a walk. We can go find Father!”

They held their hand out to their new friend. Monarch took it with a smile. As they teleported out from the Veil-shrouded palace and into the Greenbelt, a second notification pinged everyone’s displays. The fighter, however, was simply too ensorcelled to notice.


	5. Contains Rape

Another mission completed. Maya closed menu, a small break from the monotony of this endless hall of fog. All around, the rest of the party did the same. They spoke not a word to each other, unable or uncaring to break the monotony themselves.

As close as they were to finishing the questline, this beta, this godforsaken beta...there was no telling when it would end. Maya stared hollowly into the backs of those before her. Maybe it was better that they all died here, their avatars. Maybe then they'd finally be released from this hellscape.

An icy shiver trailed clawlike down the sorcerer's back. It was possible the game was so glitched that there was no release. That they were all merely waiting for their comatose bodies to expire in their Soul Translators. For the first time in a long time, Maya felt an inexplicable urge to laugh.

"Look sharp," Ultama's voice snapped through the haze. "The fog's clearing."

Indeed, both fog and hall faded out into the stone hollow of a natural cavern. Its walls rose like twenty-foot waves on either side of them, each capped by a crown of glistening stalagmites. At the heart of the soaring stone glinted the polished edge of a coffin upon a dais carved with rampant tigers.

Of course, between the party at the doorway and the distance edge of the coffin was a veritable sea of armored skeletons standing as erect in death as they had marched in life. Upon their backs, each bore a greatsword as sharp and shiny as new.

"Let me guess," said Ultama. "They wake up as soon as we set foot in the closed casket room?"

Earlier, it seemed, from the blood that abruptly burst from every gaping eye socket. In a single, dripping motion, the skeletons slung forth their greatswords and charged at the tomb raiders.

"Fuck!" Parake shouted, her falchion casting back the first of Armag's undead army with thunderous clangor.

Gira held onto their shield for dear life, each bone-rattling contact inching them back. The undead were immune to Ultama's sneak attacks. Her daggers met their blades cut for cut, but with so many attackers, it was only a matter of time before a stray blade pierced her guard.

"Get that motherfucking sword outta that motherfucking coffin!" the rogue screamed at the sorcerers behind her back.

"Way ahead of you," lied Maya, only now stirred from her stupor. Her body suffused with light as she shifted once more into nymph form.

Her green fingers wrapped around the frozen Rust's wrist. She pointed at the dais. It was clear of bleeding skeletons for now, but that could change in seconds. "Get ready to grab the sword!"

"G-got it," squeaked Rust. His orange-limned body shifted into a much smaller, leaner fey form. 

Although half the height of Maya's nymph, Rust's spring-heeled Jack was easily the more threatening with sharp, curling horns and skin like blackest oil. His nervous nod laughably mismatched his new features.

"Here we go!" Maya cackled uncontrollably.

In the blink of a bloodshot eye, the two sorcerers vanished and reappeared upon the dais. As predicted, a whole half of the undead army broke broke away to charge the new threat to their eternal vigil.

But Rust was as good as his word. He punched one orange-limned arm at the coffin. By the fey's innate magic, it passed through the front wall, vanishing elbow-deep into the coffin.

The skeletons reached the dais. Maya turned. Time slowed to a sweltering crawl, a dozen fatal blades swinging at her defenseless form. She could count each bead of blood left in the wake of their arcing arms.

Her eyes closed at the end of her blink. The red rain splattered her face, her body.

Her eyes opened. Shining blades hovered over every inch of her body. Then withdrew. The skeletons stood at attention, swords in hand. Waiting.

Rust stepped down from the dais, shifting from fey to human. The warriors parted in two flanks on either side of him and the greatsword extending from his arm.

"Oh thank god," said Gira, slumping in relief against the doorframe.

"Heh, you really got it," said Ultama, wiping the blood off her half-grinning mouth.

"Better give it to me," said Parake. She marched between the frozen ranks, arm stretched forth.

Rust stood as still as the skeletons. Maya frowned. The tag beside his diamond had glitched out into nameless pixels.

"Uh, Rust…?"

His arm blurred. Blood dripped from the end of his sword. Parake's severed arm rolled to a dripping stop. The fighter screamed, clutching her bleeding stump. 

Shunk! Shunk! Shunk! Shunk! Shunk! A dozen blades ended her life before anyone could make a move. As her body slumped to a leaking heap upon the ground, the skeletons stepped back to attention.

"Do not try me," said the sorcerer. "I am Ovinrbaane, Enemy of All Enemies. Kneel before me, or die."

"Rust, what the fuck?!" screamed Ultama.

"The sword, it must be cursed," said Gira. "Wait, just let me…"

They approached cautiously, holding their hands up.

Shunk! Shunk! Shunk! Shunk! Shunk!

Ultama ran from the cave before the cleric's body hit the floor. Ovinrbaane pointed at the rogue by the blade.

"Find her. Kill her."

Half the army went running after her. The cursed sorcerer turned back toward Maya. She dropped to her knees upon the dais.

Ovinrbaane approached. Her HUD pinged with a notification. Technically, they'd completed the quest. A pop-up opened automatically.

"Timeskip? [Y]/[N]."

Ovinrbaane's stride never broke. He hadn't even noticed the option. Ultama would skip, of course she would skip.

Every rigid nerve in Maya's body screamed at her to do the same. But that would leave her the only person in this world aware of the danger this tomb was about to unleash...the danger they were responsible for releasing.

The breath left her mouth in shaky stream. If they were all just waiting to die anyway, she might as well do something meaningful with her final days.

[N].

Ovinrbaane stopped at the foot of the dais. His empty hand stretched out toward Maya. The back of his fingers trailed across her fey-skinned cheek. "Beautiful…"

Bands of orange magic seized around her head, arms, chest, and legs. Maya screamed. She had made the wrong choice.

The holding magic twisted her around, shoving her chest against the top of the coffin. Her arms were wrenched behind her back, her legs spread and forced against the coffin's edge.

Ovinrbaane threw the back of her robes up over her magically bound arms. They fell over her sobbing head. 

The wrong choice, the wrong choice, the wrong choice. The words rang through her head like the world's bleakest mantra as the cursed sorcerer ripped off her panties and forced his burning girth up her clenched asshole.

She cried and jerked in the thick, orange bands, struggling to contain him. Ovinrbaane, apathetic both to her tears and her squirming, ripped her anal walls apart as a finger does wet tissue.

Her squeezing asshole wrapped just as tight around his burning dick. He grunted more beast than human and pounded the godforsaken sorcerer into the coffin, grinding her cunt against its stony edge.

Maya screamed but even her pain was not instinct. Her hips bucked against his, begging his cock deeper despite the agony of their bound mistress.

Ovinrbaane obliged, ramming her so deep and hard into her core that his head knocked the air out of scream. Maya spasmed, under and around him. Ovinrbaane filled her with a groan.

Only when he pulled out did Maya's breath return with short, brittle gasps. He held her winking hole open with his thumb, chuckling at his cum's oozing trail down her trembling legs.

"I have conquered one hole. Two more must now submit."

Maya whimpered in pure, animal pain. Despair. She had made the wrong choice.

**Author's Note:**

> Real Deathed 13 of 32  
> (from Stage 1)  
> Cardinal, cleric, he/him  
> Garn, fighter, he/him  
> Amber, rogue, he/him or they/them  
> Seafa, shifter, they/them or she/her  
> Jade, sorcerer, they/them or she/her
> 
> Steel, cleric, she/her  
> Rasery, shifter, he/him  
> Byza, cleric, they/them  
> Tyrian, fighter, they/them  
> Vilet, rogue, they/them  
> Crimson, sorcerer, he/him  
> Gira, cleric, they/them  
> Parake, fighter, they/them or she/her
> 
> Impregnated:  
> Lagun, tiefling (by daemon)  
> Hunter, changeling (by stygira)  
> Eleci, changeling (by sygria)


End file.
